Chapter 5
"Yes," Wade moaned. "I can feel it. It feels wonderful, Dennis. Keep fucking me. Fuck my ass, Dennis. Fuck my ass with that hard cock."
Dennis pounded his long, hard prick into the boy then, pounded him swiftly and deeply, thrusting with his strong lean thighs and his sturdy hips, withdrawing until the head would pop out of the asslips and then would force the nice-sized dick back in once again to tear up the overly sensitive channel. Wade looked straight ahead, his eyes directly level with the slamming crotch, as the big peter thrust in and out of his hole. He reached forward with one hand and, grabbing for Dennis' baseball-sized nuts, unwittingly caused the cock to slip all the way out of him.
Dennis roughly pushed him back onto the bed, grabbed up his legs and pulled them even closer against his broad chest. "Lay back, bitch," he growled. "If I want you to play with my balls, then I'll cram them down your fucking throat when I'm done with your ass. Right now, just lay back and take cock, you hear me?"
Dennis placed his cock back into position. Wade felt the jabbing entrance pain all over again as the cock went tearing back up inside him; he winced with the pain and writhed his head on the mattress. Finally Dennis was buried inside him all the way again and the pain began to abate, the warmth and fullness returned. Wade squeezed in on the cock with his asshole until he caused Dennis to grimace with pain; pleased with himself, he continued the pressure until Dennis began to slam his cock with furious thrusts in and out of him once more. The cock battered his asshole savagely and relentlessly, the strokes lengthening with each thrust.
The pain, however, had completely subsided. Wade knew that Rick really had done a good job opening up his asshole, just as Rick boasted, and he felt twinges of pleasure and shame simultaneously as Dennis pounded his cock in and out of him. It felt great, he was loving it, he was everything Rick said he was.
"Fuck me, baby," he groaned. "Fuck my ass. Ram the dick to me, Dennis!"
His prostate gland was throbbing wildly as the hard cock stroked and rubbed against it, bringing on mounting, multiplying fireworks inside his body. Dennis was screwing him as fast as he could go now, pushing his cock each time all the way to the hilt and then withdrawing to the tip and slamming back inside. And the look on Wade's face clearly indicated that this was how he liked to take cock most. Wade thrashed about on the bed, his arms and shoulders bouncing forward each time Dennis jammed himself into him. He sobbed aloud as he felt his prostate gland soaring him toward orgasm; he began to grind his ass backward to meet the forward advances of the heavy weapon attached to Dennis' beautiful, sun-golden crotch.
"Oh, it feels really great now," he moaned. "Come on, Dennis, ride me hard... let me have every fucking inch of that meat! Give it to me the way Rick does. Fuck the hell out of me!"
"Oh, you dirty cocksucking bitch," Dennis growled deep in his throat. "I'll fuck you, all right... I'll fuck you till your ass bleeds, you fucking pussy!"
"Oh, shit, man," Wade moaned. "I'm gonna come... you're making me come with that big dick... I can't take much more!" He wiggled his ass back onto the pounding, steel-driving cock. "Fuck that asshole, man. Shove that meat in there!"
"Get ready for the load of your life," Dennis grunted as he jabbed himself deep inside Wade's slimy-hot asshole. "I'm gonna shoot, cocksucker. I'm coming! Now... here it comes!"
"Shoot it, man," Wade whimpered, feeling the hot juices searing up inside him. "Oh, that's it... give me your come." He squeezed in on the throbbing cock with his innermost muscles and milked the cock dry up in his ass.
Dennis stood firmly between his legs, his cock rammed up inside Wade's ass, as the very last of his come flowed into the warm receptacle. His heavy breathing subsided, his limbs relaxed, and it was all over. "Pretty good lay," Dennis winked at Clint across the room as he yanked his cock from Wade's steaming bowels.
"I'm gonna find out for myself," Clint chuckled.
"Please," Wade said, exhausted and bruised. "No more right now... just give me time to rest... please, no more."
But there was more -- and there was no time to rest.
Dennis had just pulled himself away when Clint was there to replace him. He grabbed Wade's legs up and mounted him, guiding his prick with one hand.
They kept giving him poppers, kept giving him grass; Wade kept taking it all, taking it until nothing in the world seemed more realistic than a fantasy.
At first he felt two men kissing his body all over, rubbing it gently... and then, very gradually, so gradually that it was hard to notice, rubbing him and kissing him harder and harder. Then they began to slowly pat his ass, building it up until both were slapping him hard with the palms of their hands. Even though it felt good.
But then they began to use their belts. And no amount of drugs could obliterate the pain, nothing could make it seem like a dream-fantasy. It was real, this pain, and nothing could stop the pain.
He pleaded with Rick, begged for him to stop, but Rick ignored him. He felt nothing but one stinging slap after another -- leather straps cutting into his flesh, punishing his ass for all the cocks it had taken.
Wade continued to be; it did no good. At last, mercifully, he surrendered to the dizziness and the weariness. He blacked out.
When he came to, he was no longer at the house where he had begun. He was somewhere else -- with different men. Rick had gone oft he was told, with, some cute blond kid and had dropped him off for his friends to enjoy.
And that was when Wade realized he was going to have to drop Rick. With pain and disappointment and humiliation -- and with hatred for himself as well as for Rick -- he made his way back to his own house. Rick was still out; he thought it just as well.
He only knew that he had to run, had to get away from, Rick and from himself, or what Rick had made of him. Practicalities were irrelevant. He packed one suitcase, took all his credit cards and the cash he had on hand, and took a taxi to the airport.
He awoke in the hotel room and looked around, trying to concentrate, trying, through his hangover, to recall the events of the night before. The only thing he could really remember was that he had left Rick two days ago and, terribly enough, he missed Rick, ached with jealousy to know what he was doing back in Los Angeles, ached to be with him and to hold him.
Gradually, his memory returned. He knew then that he was in a hotel room on Miami Beach. He was lying naked in a strange bed. Someone had been with him, someone had come to this room last night, someone he had met on the beach... What was his name? He couldn't really even remember what the guy had looked like, let alone his name.
They had both been drunk, Wade knew that for certain. They had been drunk and they had collapsed onto the bed... and the man had sucked Wade off rather sensationally before they had both passed out. And something else from very early this morning... ah, yes, the kid had dressed and gone. Wade remembered watching him, half asleep, and on his way out he had promised to come back later in the afternoon.
Wade wished he could remember what the guy had looked like. But it didn't really matter. He wouldn't come back, guys like that never came back.
Just trying to trace back the last twenty-four hours was difficult and painful. He didn't want to face that yet. Before that, there were twenty-five years to be accounted for. Had everything been building toward this moment in this strange bed in this tasteless hotel room? It was a question that frightened him.
The first thing Wade did when he got to Miami was to go out for a drink and, accidentally, come across a gay bar, one of the smaller downtown places with an oddly mixed clientele. He sat up at the bar for hours, stating over the bartender's head into the smoked mirror which reflected the hundreds of varicolored bottles and the heads of the people at the tables behind him. He got very drunk and knew that he should stop drinking, but somehow his glass just kept getting empty and the bartender kept refilling it. He felt better being drunk, anyway. He didn't have to think about the details of his situation, he didn't have to remind himself that he had left Rick and that he was in a strange bar in a strange city and that he had no idea what he was going to do about everything. Drunk, it was easy to remember that nothing mattered in the end, or that things would work themselves out, tomorrow or the next day.
And yet the smoke-filled bar and the sad music on the jukebox was beginning to depress him. He swirled around on his bar stool and looked out over the sea of faces. Most of the people were sitting in groups at tables and he had trouble when he tried to focus on individuals. His eyes shifted from one table to the next... and finally they rested on a figure standing against the wall near the doorway. Wade stared, not really aware that he was staring. The man was too beautiful not to be a little absurd. He was about twenty-five years old, so suntanned that his skin was almost black, a man of medium height in a tight-fitting shirt open halfway down his chest, revealing a mattress of curly black hair, tight corduroy pants which emphasized the bulge of his crotch and the outline of his thick, stocky legs. His pants were jammed down inside gold-buckled leather boots which came almost to his knees, and around his waist there was a very wide, brown-leather belt. There was a gaudy tattoo on the bicep of one enormous arm, and his black hair was thick, curly, and unkempt all around his head. He wore a little gold-circle earring in one ear; now and then when he moved his head, twisting his thick, bullish neck, the golden band could be seen underneath the wild curls of his hair. He had a classic Roman nose, dark, thickly-lashed, extraordinarily sexy eyes, and a full sensual mouth which curled downward ever so slightly at the corners.
A bleached, flighty queen was sitting beside Wade up at the bar; Wade noticed him for the first time when he leaned over and said, "Looking for company?"
Wade glanced at him, shrugged. "I'm looking at somebody right now who I wouldn't mind having for company," he said.
The other guy turned on his stool, following Wade's eyes, and then he laughed and turned back around. "I know what you mean," he sighed. "It's really a pity about Costas. He's too handsome for his own good."
Wade was captivated by the name. "Do you know him?" he asked. "Is he American?"
"He's Greek or Spanish or something, I think," the boy said. "And, yes, I know him, or know about him. He's trouble. Forget him, pure trash... it's really a shame too, because he is so beautiful. He nearly killed some queens in here one night because they were carrying on about him, groping him and all. You have to watch him, he's dangerous. He comes in here and stands around but if you make a wrong move with him, he goes crazy, starts slugging."
"You mean he isn't gay?" Wade asked.
"I don't know what he is, except crazy," the queen said. He waved his hands languidly, and went on, "Sometimes he goes off with men, sometimes he doesn't. But he gets pissed off very easily and you never know what you said or did that was wrong. There's no rationality to him, he operates on instincts and emotions, I think. But just forget about him, honey, he's trouble all the way."
Wade shrugged away the guy's advice. "I think I need that kind of distraction tonight," he said.
The queen turned away, somewhat indignant, and his tone and mannerisms turned bitchy. "Well, just wave ten dollars in front of him and he'll either drop his pants or put you in the hospital," the queen said, lighting another cigarette from the butt of his previous one.
Wade continued staring at Costas. The man did not seem to be so ill-humored, at least not tonight. Once somebody walked by him, an older man in a business suit, made some passing remark, and Costas tilted his wild-looking head back and laughed -- a sudden flash of startling white teeth against his dark face. His eyes were following the man who'd made him laugh, and, as his gaze swept back toward its former direction, the dark eyes caught Wade staring. Costas looked for a moment, aloofly, but knowing that he was being watched, and then turned away again. He was holding a long-necked beer bottle on the thigh of one leg which was stuck behind him on the wall, and the proximity of the bottle to his crotch created an extremely enticing picture.
Wade ordered another drink and continued to watch the young stud for about thirty more minutes. Costas appeared oblivious; once he glanced over and met Wade's eyes again -- then, as before, he looked disinterestedly away.
It was disconcerting and frustrating. Wade shifted his eyes to some of the others in the bar, wondering if perhaps there was something about himself which the man didn't like. After a couple of more drinks, he decided to find out.
Costas had dropped his leg from the wall, placed the beer bottle aside, and sauntered cockily back towards the bathrooms. Quite blatantly, Wade followed him.
The toilet was dirty, smelly, the walls covered with graffiti. Huge cocks were drawn everywhere, scrawled over desperate messages, telephone numbers, addresses. Costas was standing up at the urinal, his broad, sinuous back facing Wade. He was standing with his legs spread far apart as he pissed, so that the clean outline of his ass in the tight corduroy pants was alluringly prominent.
Wade stepped up to the adjoining urinal. He unzipped the fly of the shorts he was wearing, tugged out his cock, and stood there trying to piss. Somehow it didn't work; he was too nervous, too aware of the man beside him. He glanced over through the corners of his eyes. Costas was finishing, shaking his big, limp, almost black cock with his hand. Apparently he was wearing no underwear, for the curly black crotch hair sprouted out from his open fly along with his dick. While Wade stood there, Costas continued to shake his cock with his hand, then he flushed the urinal and suddenly stepped aside to lean against the wall, facing Wade from the side, his prick still hanging out in his hand. His mouth twisted in an arrogant grimace as his dark eyes flashed across Wade, and he said, "All right, queen, cut out the games; I know what you want."
Taken off guard, Wade nervously tucked his cock back into his shorts and turned to face the man.
"Well, now," Costas grinned. "Just how much bread are you willing to part with, faggot?"
"I'll give you ten," Wade said.
Costas thought it over for a moment. "Ten bucks, and I do to you what I want," he said.
"Fine with me," Wade shrugged, relinquishing all concern.
Costas wheeled around and went to close and lock the door of the john. Then he leaned against the door, staring at Wade, still fondling his prick with one hand. "Get your pants down," he ordered.
Wade pulled down the shorts, then his underwear, pulling them over the sandals on his feet without much difficulty. He placed the clothing across the sink basin. Then he walked up to the handsome hustler, reached out with one hand and began to stroke Costas' big cock. Costas stood immobile, watching rather contemptuously, not even bothering to remove his own hand from where it was wrapped around his cock. Wade squeezed the man's hand around, the prick and played with both hand and dick at the same time until the cockflesh began to swell and expand and stood rock-hard and ready, sticking straight out of Costas' open fly.
Nothing else was spoken between them. Abruptly, Costas grabbed Wade by the shoulders and slammed him up against the dirty bathroom wall. His hands worked quickly, unbuckling the heavy belt, dropping his pants down his hairy, muscular thighs all the way to the knees. He grabbed Wade's legs out from under him, raising them into the air and wrapping them around his waist. He kept Wade suspended from the floor by pressing his back hard into the wall and moving his own sturdy body up under Wade's. Wade locked his legs around the man's waist and clung tightly to the thick neck with both arms.
Costas positioned himself so that his cock was pointing straight upward at Wade's ass. At the moment he shoved upward, Wade managed to drop his buttocks down; the cock, by their mutually well-timed movements, was plunged straight up into Wade's asshole. The head went searing inside, burning and filling Wade with that familiar, painful shock -- the shock of having a big cock rammed straight inside his ass without the benefit of lubrication. Costas waited only a moment, then he ground his entire prick up into the warm asshole, shoving it until Wade's ass was connected to Costas' hairy crotch at the balls.
Immediately, he began to plunge his cock up and down and thus in and out of Wade's ass, thrusting by sinking on his haunches and then lunging back upward, pile driving the cock to the hilt. Wade groaned and held tightly to the strong, hairy body, the only thing which prevented him from falling to the floor. He squeezed in with the muscles of his anal canal, gripping the long thick cock tightly as it tore its way in and out of his ass.